A Love Like That
by justanotherclassic
Summary: A series of unrelated Captain Swan drabbles and one-shots. Ratings may vary.
1. The Cold

A/N: I am currently migrating my series over from AO3. These are series of one-shots that aren't really long enough to serve as a stand-alone.

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Prompt: I humbly request: CS+canon+snowed in.

 **The Cold**

Emma loved her home, the wraparound porch and gorgeous hardwood floors. She loved the color of the walls, the many windows, and even the molding on the walls. She loved its proximity to Granny's, the nice lawn, and spacious backyard. Everything about the house was perfect.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, she hated her home. What she didn't realize about moving into what is supposed to be a much-older home – it's technically only thirty years old, but is designed like it is closer to seventy-five – is how cold it would be in the winter. It had been "renovated," of course, but the renovation didn't account for the poor insulation or how it would fare in the Maine winter.

She already had the thermostat cranked up to an ungodly number, one that she normally wouldn't consider under most circumstances. Tonight wasn't most circumstances though. Tonight, a particularly nasty Nor'easter was sweeping its way through Maine, with tiny little Storybrooke being caught in the mix. Had the storm not been projected by meteorologists across New England for days, Emma would have almost believed that the storm's cause was magical. She almost would have preferred it that way. She could handle magical storms. She couldn't stop Mother Nature.

Emma huffed and checked her phone. She had a number of unanswered texts from Grumpy, and an equal amount from her father telling her to ignore the dwarf. There was only so much the sheriff's department could do before the storm rolled over Storybrooke, and Emma felt like they did a good job preparing the town. Now they just had to wait it out to see what damage that would be done. Of course, that wasn't good enough for Grumpy. Then again, what ever was?

At least Henry seemed to be having fun. He had been sending her a stream of pictures from the snow adventures he, Roland, and Robin had been sharing. A snowball fight, snow angels, and one particularly impressive snowman. Regina had even allowed them to make snow cream. Her kid was having a blast bonding with the other half of his family, and that made her feel warmer than anything in her house ever could.

Not that it was hard to at the moment.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she padded into the den to find Killian prodding the wood in the fireplace. As such, the den was now the warmest room in the house, and she was highly considering spending the entire night down her, fire hazard and uncomfortable couch be damned. Emma sighed heavily as she fell into said uncomfortable couch, and pulled the discarded throw blanket over her form. Hearing her enter the room, Killian turned away from the flames and looked at her with an amused grin.

"Cold, are you?" Killian asked with a grin. Emma shot him a glare in response as he sauntered over to join her. As he settled next to her, he maneuvered so she could curl into his side. "You know, Swan, maybe it's a good thing you were brought over to this realm. If this bothers you, you hardly would have managed in the Enchanted Forest."

"I would've had a castle," Emma argued as she snuggled deeper into his chest, reveling in his warmth.

"This dwelling is still warmer. Trust me, I snuck into many a castle back in my day," Killian countered as he placed a kiss on her forehead. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, causing Emma to sigh happily. This was good. This was going to get her through the cold.

"So what you're telling me is that this princess would have had a pirate sneaking into her bedchambers to keep her warm."

"Perhaps," Killian laughed, "though being in Storybrooke, I don't have to do any sneaking to get into this princess' bed. In fact, I can be there anytime I wish. Such as now."

Emma shook her head against his chest. Between him, the fire, and the blanket, she wasn't going anywhere. "Mmmm…no…too warm now. This princess is good to stay right here."

She half expected him to reply with one of his patented innuendos, but instead he tightened his arms in a hug and murmured into her hair a soft, "As you wish."

There was one thing Emma forgot to add to her list of things she loved about her home: the pirate with whom she shared it.

She loved that part the most.


	2. the cradle will fall

"I never thought there could be so many books about magical babies."

They're in the library, Emma and Killian, surrounded by dozens of books about magical pregnancies and infants. Based on Belle's earlier research, the Shears of Destiny were often referenced in regards to magical infants. And since they had been the ones who threw the Shears away, and inadvertently into the hands of Rumplestiltskin, they feel obligated to help.

Emma lifts one of the texts, and overlarge book that's name should be "What to Expect When You're Potentially Expecting a Magic Demon Baby", but is instead something more mundane: _Foetus Magicae._ "You know, when I woke up this morning, I totally didn't expect to be reading about magical babies. Well, I didn't expect to do it ever, but especially not today."

Killian looks up from his book, eyebrow quirked. "Really? Never?"

"What, and you have?"

He shrugs.

"I always assumed there would be a chance that your magic could be inherited. Thus, research." To punctuate his point, Killian waves his hook over the book-filled table for emphasis.

"Yeah, well, Henry doesn't have magic powers, and if he developed 'em now, he would be a magical teenager, not a baby."

"I wasn't talking about Henry, love."

Her breath hitches a bit at his admission, because if he's not talking about Henry, he's talking about her future offspring. Future, as in something she cannot have, will not have, assuming her vision is correct. (And in all likelihood, is.)

He's been doing this quite a bit lately, talking about their future, the one they cannot have. He asks her, a teasing lilt to his voice, if she will still love him when he hair grows gray. He promises that they will cut down the largest tree possible come Christmastime. He's even mentioned taking her and Henry sailing up the coast once the weather grows warms.

It's his way of showing her that he truly believes that can change her fate. It's both sweet and overwhelming. And as much as she loves his steadfastness in his faith for her future, she hates it.

Because what if they fail? If she dies, everything he's hoped for will evaporate into nothingness. Christmas, summer sailing trips, magical freaking babies – they'd all be broken dreams. Or dreams he would have to share with someone else.

She feels her hand begin to tremble.

"Swan," he breathes, noticing the shaking of her hand immediately, always so in tune to what she is feeling. "Talk to me, darling."

"You know there's a chance there won't be magical babies, right?" Her voice comes out harsher than she expected, a tinge of anger coming through. "I'm supposed to die, and I didn't look pregnant or like I just had a baby in the vision, just so you know."

"Swan, I—"

"And, I really can't think about babies, magic or not, if I'm supposed to die, Killian," she tells him, her voice rising considerably with each word. She feels the pinpricks of tears stinging at the corner of her eyes. "I'm not going to leave another of my kids without its mother. _I can't_."

Emma's last few words are breathed into Killian's chest as he engulfs her in his arms. She's always appreciated his solid presence and the strength of his arms. Right now, however, it reminds her of everything she stands to lose.

"You're not leaving any of your children, theoretical or not, without their mother," he tells her, stroking his hook down her back. "And if you don't wish to think about babies, you don't have to."

Except that's also the thing: she's been thinking about babies. Not in the serious kind of way, but it's crossed her mind more than once. She's not even sure if she wants more kids, but since the choice has seemingly be stolen by fate, the idea has been there in the back of her mind – "Look at this other thing you can't have."

And now she knows Killian's been thinking about it too.

"It's not that I don't — I just — I can't do this right now."

"It's okay, love." He plants a kiss on her temple and pulls away slowly. "You know will solve this, right?"

She nods in response, not quite believing him, but desperately wanting to. She brushes at the corners of her eyes in an attempt to wipe away any errant tears. "Yeah, but before we solve anything, we need to figure out how to keep Belle's baby safe."

"Right."

He eyes her warily as he goes back to his books, settling down in a seat closer to her. He returns to his research, but not before reaching out and taking her once trembling hand in her own, and squeezing it tightly.

He doesn't let her go.


	3. Frozen

Prompt: how about CS + dog/cat + kids + snow because I am also getting a ridiculous amount of snow and it is on my mind atm

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Chapter Text

Killian has her pressed against the mast of the Jolly, his lips hard and insistent and hips rutting into hers deliciously. She should care about the fact that they are standing here out in the open where anyone can see them necking like teenagers, but it's been far too long since they were truly alone, and he feels so good – especially the way he is drawing patterns on her skin under the hem of her shirt. She's trying to remember how to perform a cloaking spell while Killian does his best to brand her neck when her phone buzzes.

"Ignore it," he moans against her skin, doing his best to drive his point home with another roll of his hips, "whoever it is can wait."

She wants to, God does she want to…but she can't. There's something niggling at her that tells her that this call is important. She reluctantly breaks away from Killian, both of them sighing in defeat as she attempts to wrangle the phone from her back pocket. She briefly realizes that Killian has somehow managed to pop the button on her jeans without her knowing. Maybe her instinct is wrong, and he can get back to finishing the job.

Henry's name and picture flashing on the screen tells her that her instincts were right, and that they won't be resuming their activities anytime soon. Killian is still shooting daggers at the device in her hand, but his expression softens when she mouths her son's name in explanation.

"Hey, kid, what's up?" Emma does her best to get her breathing and voice back under control. Her heart is still pounding in her chest, and she knows it isn't solely from Killian's ministrations alone. Henry wouldn't be calling unless something was going on, going wrong. She just doesn't want to convey that sense of panic to her only son.

"Mom, I'm so sorry," Henry begins, his voice rushed and reflecting the panic that she definitely feels, "we were watching a movie and – oh shit –nobody'sdyingbuthelp!"

Her heart skips a beat, and the fear Emma is feeling must be written across her face because Killian is taking her hand and pulling her into him. His blue eyes look so very worried and concerned as he tightens his grip on her waist as she poofs them back to their front lawn. The house looks quiet in the night, and judging by the way Henry was able to get a call out, villains aren't attacking. That thought still doesn't keep her from bounding up the stairs of the porch, Killian on her heels. Judging by the way he is holding his left arm, he's ready for a fight just in case. They throw open the front door, steeling themselves for whatever they are about to find inside and –

"Momma! Papa! Look! Snow!"

Whatever Emma expected when she burst though the door, it wasn't this. Their living room has somehow been turned into a veritable winter wonderland, the hardwood, sofa, and all of the furniture covered in a fine layer of snow. Killian makes a noise that sounds like a half-laugh/half-sob, eyes darting between his snow-covered bookcase of centuries-old tomes to the tiny figure standing in the middle of the room looking immensely proud of herself and her exasperated older brother.

"You made it snow…" Emma is the first to speak, her voice a strangled mix of shock and awe, because it really is an impressive show of magic – even if it means that they will almost assuredly have to replace all the furniture in the room. When they realized their daughter would be magical – product of True Love and all that – indoor snowscapes is not what they had in mind.

"Yeah, Momma, isn't it awesome?!" Their daughter proceeds to demonstrate her glee by running around the now-white room, kicking her feet and spreading the snow everywhere. "I'm just like Elsa!"

Eliza doesn't know Elsa, at least not the real Elsa; however, she's becoming intimately familiar with the Disney-version of the character recently, and it seems that she was sharing this discovery with her older brother when she decided to do a magical demonstration of her own. Emma and Killian had honestly been trying to shield her from Disney movies, at least until she was old enough to differentiate between the film versions and real people, but that plan had been shot to hell after one particular sleepover. The morning Emma had picked her up, the girl had been belting "Let it Go" from the top of her lungs, and hadn't stopped since. Now, it appears her emulation of Arendelle's queen is complete.

"Papa, do you wanna build a snowman?" Their daughter bounds up to Killian, practically leaping into his arms. He lifts her up, and she wraps her tiny arms around his neck. "Henry says you wouldn't wanna, but I think he's just bein' mean."

"Excellent show my little duckling, but I'm afraid your brother is partially correct, if only because snow is not something we play with indoors." Killian tries to explain gently, eyeing his little girl carefully to avoid any breakdown or misconstrued discouragement of her powers. "Now, if the snow were outside, I would gladly build a snowman with you."

"See!" Eliza exclaims victoriously. She sticks her tongue out at her brother, seemingly offended that Henry would ever doubt Killian's willingness to play with her. Which, in all fairness, is true. Eliza does have her father wrapped around her tiny finger.

"I skipped going to the beach for spring break for this…" Henry sighs, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. "Anyway, sorry to break up date night, but yeah…indoor snowmageddon."

He waves his hands around uselessly. Emma only feels partially sorry for kid, if only because she knows he didn't actually turn down a college spring break in some coastal, Florida town. It's not her son's style. Now maybe if it were a vacation to a different realm like Arendelle – that is something more his speed. The whole situation has Emma thinking that maybe a family vacation to Arendelle might actually need to be in order. If only so Eliza could hear about the best time and place for magical exhibitions from the Ice Queen, herself. Besides, it wouldn't be so bad to see Elsa again…

Yes, a family vacation to Arendelle is definitely in order, assuming they could get a portal there. At least, it will be once Emma manages to magic the snow out of her house.

(And maybe after she gets some actual alone time with her pirate, as well.)


End file.
